


Do it, I Dare You

by TracedViolet



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 19:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracedViolet/pseuds/TracedViolet
Summary: Grimmons one shot where Grif finally goes through with his threats. Warnging: It's fucking sad, man.





	Do it, I Dare You

Private first class Dick Simmons was in one hell of a mood. He'd overslept, missed breakfast and his usual first to the shower spot granting him a freezing cold wake up call. He had accidently deleted a 10 page report and had to start completely over from scratch. his left arm had majorly malfunctioned at the shoulder and he'd had to endure 2 hours of Sarge’s painful tinkering only to find out it was simply a pinched wire and now, he had a list of chores that had to be done by 5 o' clock that evening. No if ands or buts about it.   
The Dutch Irishman gritted his teeth as he stomped out to the back of the base to start the first thing on the list, washing the warthog, but when he turned the corner he noticed a familiar orange blob lounging in the shade. A twinge of jealousy spiked inside his cyborg chest making his next idea all the more satisfying.

Grif had always been a master of avoiding chores at red base. Most of the time it was just because he didn't care and thought the whole war was stupid and pointless. Most days. Today, like on some occasions, he found himself lost on the past. Life back home, his 'family', and things he'd done... or hadn't done. He found himself in a foul mood over this. A lot of these things he secretly regretted but whatever. He would just take his angst out on his teammates when the opportunity arose. Mindless banter usually got at least some of his deep seeded aggression out. He'd long conditioned them to it and they were none the wiser. For now though, he just wanted to sleep. Everyone seemed busy and there was no one around to dump it on.   
As he started drifting off, an angry voice ripped him back to reality.

"Hey!" Simmons yelled stalking over the grassy dirt hills to the lazy orange Spartan. He hoped he had disturbed the younger man from his nap, because today he was looking for a fight.

‘Oh my God, this guy, great.’ Grif thought. ‘I’m seriously not in the mood for his shit right now.’

"Get up Fatass." Simmons demanded. His voice was a bit lower and gruffer but his tone was restrained to his usual annoyance as not to give the shorter Spartan the satisfaction of knowing he was in a pissy mood. He was going to have the upper hand in this situation and he didn't care how low he had to shoot to make the usually carefree Grif just as mad and upset as he was. 

Grif rolled his eyes, "go away. Isn't there an ass you should be kissing somewhere?" The lazy soldier closed his eyes again and folded his arms over his stomach. Simmons was known to be the hot head of the team. Grif planned to just push his buttons until the maroon Spartan got annoyed enough to leave him alone. This was usually a pretty fool proof route.

Hit number one, predictably, a blow straight to the maroon soldier’s pride. Grif may not have known much about Simmons, but one thing he did know was that the Dutch Irishman held his status very highly and calling him a kissass outside of their friendly banter was just another nail in the coffin. "Sarge wants us to wash the warthog and by us I mean you. Now, get up." A nice simple kick in the side should have been persuasion enough. It wasn’t hard but it was strategically placed in between the orange Spartan’s plates of armor. It would be aggravating but it wouldn’t seem in malicious intent. Exactly how Simmons wanted it to look. Like Grif was the one to throw the first punch, most likely verbally because the lazy fatass would never put forth the effort to actually hit him.

"Ow!" Grif sat up rubbing the assaulted spot. He glared up at the other soldier through his visor. The resident slacker rarely took orders from anyone seriously, especially not from Simmons. "Fuck off. Do it yourself." With a snort, Grif turned his back to the red head and lay back down. One or two more jabs and Simmons would storm off in a huff call him lazy and that would be that. All Grif needed to do was ride it out. It was proving more testing than usual though. "Maybe you can polish it too, get some extra fuckin’ credit."

"I've stacked up enough so I thought I’d help you out and share." It wasn't exactly how he wanted to word it, it sounded a bit flat, but it was as close as he was going to get. At least he'd come up with something in response and thrown it back at the shorter soldier. Point for point.  
"Like I care." Grif responded.

The maroon Spartan walked over to the side of the base and grabbed a hose and a bucket. It almost looked like he was going to wash the jeep himself as he filled the plastic container with water but instead of setting the bucket down again, he threw it. Freezing cold liquid covered the brunet followed by a knock in the head. Simmons smirked behind his visor. Actions spoke louder than words didn't they?

"Jesus!" The orange Spartan went to react, but was thrown off by a blow to the head. "What the fuck, Jackass!" Grif sat back up glaring at his attacker.   
Quickly, he snatched up the bucket and stood. Angered over being caught off guard and now wet, he launched that bucket right back at Simmons as hard as he could. Surprisingly, for such a sloth, he was quite quick in following after the bucket. This wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.  
Upon reaching the jeep, Grif picked up the biggest, nastiest clod of dirt he could find and threw it right into the passenger seat of the warthog. "Enjoy cleaning that cockbite."  
The maroon soldier caught the bucket, albeit a little clumsily, but it hadn't quite knocked him off guard which he enjoyed. What was also enjoyable was the shorter Spartans infuriated yelling. He had hit something and that was exactly the plan, like a game of chess where the pieces were simply bits of information picked up over time that were labeled with a warning. Do not use unless you want to die.  
As Grif viciously attempted to smear mud onto the vehicle, Simmons searched his brain for the arsenal of words that would burn the most. "You’re the one who’s cleaning it up so good job making it harder for yourself!" He threw the bucket back at the brunet, this time at his legs so the shorter soldier couldn't quickly catch it and throw it back. "I tried to pick an easy job, seeing as you’re an incompetent fuck, so hopefully you can handle a sponge. Try not to choke on it."  
Struck by the bucket and the words at the same time, Grif stumbled mentally and physically. Rage was boiling. Silently, he retrieved the bucket again, making sure to scoop up some more mud with it and dumped it into the jeep. "Make me."   
He stood quiet just long enough for his adversary to think he might get a word in, but no. Grif cut him off, words like daggers, "though, I don’t know who would take orders from a second rate soldier." Again, he let the words sink in just long enough, round three, "I’m sure daddy must be proud. Out here in the middle of fucking space, supervisor of... what’s that? Oh yeah, car washing. Neat." There was no yelling, no over the top accentuation of words, just cold, precise condescension. Simmons had cut Grif deeper than he'd realized, now, he was retaliating.

Hit number three. Right in the daddy issues. Simmons suddenly regret every word he'd told the orange soldier when they had talked on calmer terms. His hands balled into fists and he hissed through clenched teeth. "Well at least my father was a respectable man unlike your disgusting whale of a mother. Where does she work again? Oh that’s right! The circus!" The malicious attitude started to seep into his voice again as he dripped his words with poison, tempting the younger man to strike back. "Tell me Grif... Is her beard as long as your dads? Oh wait... You don't have one of those!"  
This was war. These were not words friends should say, ever. Seething hatred spewed itself into the orange Spartans brain. "Yeah, well, at least my family is consistent." It wasn’t hatred, it was hurt. This hurt, why was this happening, with his one friend. Why would he say such horrible things? Grif bit back, "So we're all incompetent fuck ups. Yeah, I may have learned that from them, so what's your excuse?" Venomous stings were flying from both sides. He may have been hurt, but Grif wasn’t about to let Simmons win. Not this time. This was a personal attack. Still, he had to wonder, why? Was he really so terrible that even his friend had finally had enough?  
Simmons bit back the urge to run away. He wasn't going to lose this fight. He'd gotten so close to winning every time and then lost at the last second. Privileged. That’s all anyone ever called him. How nice his life must have been, to have the perfect family and the perfect parents. It was sickening to him. How his parents barely even noticed he was there and when they did they acted like he was a disease. People avoided him like the plague and for what? Because he was weird? because he was different? Because he didn't want to keep up appearances and yet, He was exactly what he hated. A status obsessed dramatic prick.   
He hated himself but was too stubborn to admit it so he was taking it out on his best friend. Also a mistake he wasn't going to own up too. Instead of backing down and apologizing for his harsh words, he just started to spit out more. "My excuse? I don't need one! Y'know why? Because my family isn't full of idiotic scum like yours! Good job raising your sister Fatass! Obviously she’s on the Path to success with all the drugs she does and the STDs she’s polluted with! Next time you see her why don’t you tell her to keep he legs shut! Maybe then she can make up for all the disappointment you've caused!"

Idiotic scum? This is how Simmons really felt? Disappointment? It stung. "You're really good at getting people to do things you ask. I can see how this strategy has worked in the past. Clearly, you've outsmarted me!" With that, Grif turned and went towards the base, pulling off his helmet and yelling back. "Look how well it’s working!! You're so smart! Good job private!" And Grif threw the rank card in Simmons face. He'd been promoted and not Simmons, he knew that would drive the maroon soldier insane. At the same time, he had made an excuse to remove himself. It hurt; he wasn’t sure how much more he'd be able to put up with. On the outside though, it would seem like the lazy soldier was yet again, just blowing his teammate off.

Private Simmons audibly growled at that one. Grif never deserved to be a sergeant. He could care less about what it meant and what it was worth. The lazy son of bitch probably never lifted a finger in his life and he got promoted?! The Dutch Irishman worked his ass off every day. He tried so hard to be the best of the best and even in this pool of idiocracy he still he wasn't good enough. He was never good enough. 

The term seeing red definitely applied to this situation because when Simmons ripped off his helmet as well all he saw was a crimson haze. The words he had prepared to say disappeared along with the game he had been playing. All his thoughts were suddenly erased and replaced with the one phrase he knew was the cruelest words to ever leave a human being’s mouth. "You're a pathetic piece of shit! A slacker and a coward! Every day you whine and complain about how hard your life is! 'Poor me! I have responsibilities and people who depend on me! Life’s too hard! I'm just going to kill myself!'" the acidic venom that coated every word was pulled from memories of being kicked down and mutilated. His voice sounded cold but his words were just the repeated hell he'd harbored deep inside for so long. The maroon Spartans emerald eyes looked dark and black. "Sometimes....." He said low and hollow, as if it was some sadistic fantasy. “I wish you would.....”

"What?" Grif turned to face the maroon soldier, not exactly sure of what he'd just heard.

"Why don't you just kill yourself?!" the red head yelled. "You’re always talking about it Grif so why don't you?! Too scared or do you just not know how to use your own gun?!?"

The orange Spartan stared in disbelief at the taller man, anger boiling up inside him. Who did this guy think he was? To tell him to take his own life? Sure, he did say it a lot but it was just a phrase. He didn't mean anything by it, but still, the Dutch Irishman’s words pierced through him like bullets. While it might have been a joke out loud, that didn't mean the thought never occurred to him. he'd never do it, no, but he couldn't help it if late at night, when everyone else was asleep and he was left alone all by himself, that the idea silently slipped into his head like the answer to all of life's miseries.  
No more suffering. No more pain.   
Swallow a few pills. Bullet through the brain.   
"Fuck. You. Simmons." he growled through clenched teeth. 

Simmons didn't hear the threat. He just went on. "It’d be a lot easier for the rest of us!!" he hissed, a humorless smile cracking his face. "We wouldn’t have to deal with your cocky ass bullshit anymore!!" he stepped closer to the younger Spartan so they were just inches apart. "Do it you fucking coward.... I dare you...."

Grif burned with some seething evil worse than hatred. Looking into the brunets eyes was like staring into the deepest pits of hell and yet, there was something vulnerable about it. He had let his emotions show and inside he was bleeding and hurt. Tears began to fall and without a word he stalked into the base not wanting to accept the reality of the moment.

“.....Wait….” Simmons started as he left, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a hesitant awkwardness. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say any of that. It was unacceptable, downright evil and it had all just rushed out in a fit of rage. Suddenly, all the fire in his chest disappeared and was replaced by an impossible weight of guilt and shame.  
‘What have I done?’

Grif reappeared probably more quickly than he'd been expected to. Both sides seemed to have reached their breaking point. All the things never said, all the feeling never expressed was spilling out, literally. "Is this what you want?"

Before the maroon soldier had time to react, the orange one plunged the object he'd retrieved from the kitchen into his arm. "Is this better?" The knife charted its slow, disturbing course towards his elbow. "Can you see your world getting better now?" A two inch slit was now dumping out every broken piece of life onto the ground. And it just kept growing, "Are you happy now?!" He removed his pained stare from Simmons to the damage, clenched his teeth and kept pulling. 3 inches, the goal, one for each sting.

Simmons face quickly turned from guilt to horror, as he was unable to understand what was happening quick enough to stop it. His stomach twisted into a sickening knot and he screamed. "Wait!! No!!!" The crimson liquid poured onto floor from Grif’s arm. A knife wasn't supposed to go that far into someone’s arm. A knife shouldn't be there at all. The maroon soldier grabbed the steel blade from the brunets hand and tossed it away. Grabbing a nearby towel that went with the bucket, he pressed it to the wound while still struggling with the other to save his life. "Stop please!! Im sorry!! I’m so sorry!!" His heart was racing at a million miles per hour. There was so much blood. He'd never seen that much blood come out of one person. He prayed the younger Spartan would stop struggling so he could call EVAC and get him to a hospital. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Nobody was supposed to die.

"Let go of me!" Grif struggled to have his arm released. He'd made the decision and had every intent to follow through with it. Living with the desire hidden was one thing, but surviving with it all out in the open was another. Now it wasn't just quiet regrets and simply playing the 'fuck it' card. Now the truth was pooling around his feet and that was a shame he didn't want to live with. "Let go..." he continued to struggle, be it less forceful than originally, as the torment his veins weren’t releasing spilled down his face in the form of tears. “Leave me alone..... It’s better this way..." He stopped struggling in the cyborg death grip on his arm and sunk to the floor. "Let go......" it was like he was begging for release from more than just his arm. He wanted Simmons to just walk away and let it happen. No more of this. No more. Ever. But, it seemed that not even in death would he have any luck. Not today. He just sat there motionless, limbs slack, on his knees. The orange Spartan just wanted to bleed.

"No!! I can't!! You’re not going to do this!!" Simmons kept a hold on the gapping slashes in the younger soldiers arm because he had to stop the bleeding. If he let go he might lose Grif forever and that was the last thing he ever wanted. "I didn't mean any of those things i said!!" the red head babbled, "I-I don’t even know why I said them!! It was wrong of me!! It was so wrong!! And I’m so sorry!!" 

Tears were forming in his own eyes now because he couldn't bear to think of a life without the lazy orange Spartan. He may have gotten on his nerves sometimes but he was such a good friend, it didn't matter. How could either of them come up with such painful insults if they hadn’t felt close enough to confide in each other in the first place? Grif was his friend and he wasn't about to let him die. "It’s not better this way!! Please believe me!! It’s not!!"

Simmons could feel his own devastation prying itself to his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen! It wasn't what had been planned! It was just venting! Why?!! "Don't give up! Im sorry........" his words trailed off as he followed his other half to the floor "I didn't mean it! Im sorry, don't leave me...." 

Grif stopped struggling to pull his arm away and sat still. The words fell out as broken sobs, a testament to everything he'd never actually said "It’s what you want....... it’s what everyone wants.... there’s no point…" Simmons felt his stomach drop into the abyss. "It’s better this way..........." he repeated. It wasn't words of desperation or sorry, it was a fact. Sure it had all been in a fit of rage, but deep inside, he'd already known all of it. Nothing new, but he hadn't meant to bring anyone with him. He didn't want to fight, but he couldn't let it bring Simmons down with him. Was it too late to stop though? Grif decided to just let it happen, whatever his 'friend' wanted to do at this point, and he’d go along with it. Half-assed as an attempt as it may be, he would try. 

"No.... Grif its not.... Please..." The words were choked because both of them knew there wasn't going to be a happy ending to this story. The red head gripped the younger man in his arms as if he could keep him from death just by holding on tighter but it wasn’t true.   
Tears rolled from emerald eyes and fell to mix with the red that was turning the dirt into a black abyss. "Please don’t go..." Simmons began to sob; he couldn’t bear the pain of losing him. "Please don’t go..." But of course Grif had no control over what would inevitably happen. They had run out of time and the guilty weight that sat inside the maroon soldier's chest had grown to engulf all of his being. There was no amount of words to describe how he felt. Only that something he valued more than anything in the world was being viciously taken from him because of a few simply misdirected words and he was being forced to watch. It wasn't fair that this had to happen. It wasn't fair he would die this way. "Please don't go"

It hurt, God did it hurt. Fire threaded it's way through his arm. Unfortunately, it didn't stop there. Slowly it was coursing its way through his entire being. It hurt so bad. Internally, Girf begged more mercy, a handed reached for the knife again. Failure. He hadn't the strength left to reach it. The fire continued to spread. His limbs felt cold and wet as he quietly begged for an end. The brunettes only partner broke into tears as he begged for salvation. 

Agony, there was no other word, agony. The orange soldier wished he could take it all back, if at least, to save his mate from the inevitable torment. It wasn't Simmons fault, it was a deep seeded desire from the beginning. Sadly, the right buttons had been pushed. Only someone you loved could push these buttons, and now, it was sloshing its way bleeding its way between both of them. Distress, "Im sorry.............." the quiet, yet heart full words pushed themselves through quiet, unconscious gasps. He'd never meant to take anyone with him, he wasn't worth the tears. Why now? Finally.... How ironic. Mental anguish was only relieved by the pins and needles slowly taking over. He hadn't expected it to be so excruciating. Again, the knife seemed so close. Failure again, he was too weak now, completely unaware the only thing holding him up anymore was the maroon Spartan. All he had left was pain, "...........It hurts........" Grifs voiced cracked between the broken sobs and gasps for air. Somewhere inside, he reminded himself, this was deserved. A life of nothing, deserved to go out in utter, unsalvageable anguish. The shivers of shock slowly taking over as life continued to leak from his arm. Involuntarily his lungs searched for life as the fiery shakes took over his body

The dutch irishman shook his head teeth bared in painful sobs. Not like this. He could let the brunet go like this. the red head took a few shaky gasps of his own before replying. "you didn't do anything wrong..... /I'm/ sorry..." He knew the younger man wasn't referring to what was said but simmons refused to let Grif hold any blame. he didn't deserve the pain or torment or distress and death, The maroon one did. Life wasn't supposed to end this way. It wasn't supposed to end in a sick puddle of coppery red. It wasn't supposed to end with tears of regret and misery. How could life be so cruel? It wasn't fair. "I'm sorry.... I'm sorry.... I'm so fucking sorry.... " it seemed to last forever. This eternity of death slowly wrapping its arms around the orange soldier's body and prying him away from the red heads grip. He'd give anything to have him back. The rest of his organs. the rest of his soul. He wasn't supposed to die before he understood. Before he knew how much the maroon spartan really loved him.  
Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he fought for life. Alas, it was all in vain. The orange soldier knew he'd found an end. At last, bitter sweet. Perhaps, someone, had finally cared enough. Or was it he that had finally allowed himself to care enough. The muddled thoughts blended together and faded from panic to acceptance. None of the questions mattered anymore, nothing did. It was all over with no hope of a second chance. And still, the one thing in the forefront of the disintegrating mind, regret. I could have tried harder. I’m sorry. There was no breath left to convey the feelings though. The only thing left behind was hot saltwater on the last shoulder the orange Spartan would ever lean on.

"No....." A crackled voice whispered as he clutched the lifeless body. "no. No. No. No. No." The words slipped from the red heads lips like a mournful chant slowly blending away into deep painful sobs that wrecked his entire body. there were no thoughts, no words, no nothing. Just this sick empty feeling that was slowly being replaced with the heaviness of guilt and sorrow. Solid shameful syrup that filled his heart and lungs and made it impossible to move. There was no point to move anymore. how could he? When he would never hear the brunets laugh or see him smile again? Why was the world still turning?? It wasn't fair!! Life wasn't supposed to go on!! not without Grif!! time wasn't allowed to keep ticking without that sarcastic smartass prick!!

The tears spilled down his cheeks and into the bloody dirt. He couldn’t hear his own sobs anymore. Nor feel the sun beating down on his head. No weight in his arms as he held desperately to his one and only friend in the entire universe. There was just nothing. It didn’t matter what had to be done that day. It didn’t matter what the blues were up to. It didn’t matter if the world continued to turn because for Simmons it was over. Nothing would ever replace the grif shaped hole that would forever exist in his heart. 

For the rest of his life there would only be 5 words. 5 words to repeat. 5 words to remember. 5 words to sink deep into his skin and burn into his nerves. 5 words to lay in his heart and seep into whatever soul he had left with every beat. 5 words he’d never say again. 5 words that literally cost him a life. Just 5 fucking words. 

“Do it. I dare you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A friend of mine was going through some real heavy shit and decided to kill Grif in an RP. It was rough let me tell you.


End file.
